Dark Crucible
by Hanzao
Summary: Bruce Wayne's worst enemy is Batman, but Batman is more concerned with the emergence of a new foe. Will Batman's internal struggle endanger Gotham?
1. Problems of a double life

"Master Wayne?"

The room was extremely dark, only partially lit by the hall light. Alfred could tell where Bruce was because of the orange glow of the cigarette peeking out through the shadows.

"What is it, Alfred?"

"The signal, sir. I believe you are being beckoned."

The orange light suddenly became more intense as Bruce took a drag off the cigarette. His recent foray into smoking worried Alfred, who found this and a few other of his master's new habits troubling.

"Time again for the Batman, old friend?" Bruce ground his cigarette into the ashtray and walked toward the hall. "Isn't it always?"

The hall light was not kind to Bruce Wayne. He looked haggard, having dark bags under his eyes and a day's worth of stubble on his chin. His was a face that would have terribly distressed Alfred to see, if he hadn't become so accustomed to seeing it these past few weeks.

"Care for a spot of tea before work, sir?" Alfred was carrying a silver tray containing a teapot and cup. Before Bruce could nod, Alfred had already poured him a cup. "They say tea is good for the reflexes, I believe."

"Really? And how is that, Alfred?" Bruce smiled as he took the cup and drank from it.

"Well sir, several cups of tea will help you go very far, very quickly," Alfred nods.

"I suppose I'd better stick to one cup tonight, then," Bruce laughed.

Alfred smiled. That was the first time in days that he heard Bruce laugh. It had become so difficult lately to see his master show anything other than brooding or melancholy that he had begun to wonder if perhaps he was under the influence of some kind of attack from one of Batman's enemies.

Bruce drained the cup and then saw the look of worry on Alfred's face.

"I'm sorry, Alfred," Bruce placed a hand on his butler's shoulder. "I don't mean to worry you. I'm just not quite feeling myself lately."

"Perhaps it is time for the Batman to take a vacation, sir?"

Bruce shook his head and frowned.

"That's the problem, my friend. As long as this city needs him, Batman doesn't take a vacation." Bruce then turned toward the Batcave. "As long as there is a need for Batman, there appears to be no need for Bruce Wayne."

Alfred watched his master walk away and shook his head.

"Oh dear," he sighed.

Bruce Wayne was not happy. He believed in Batman and the principles which that identity stood for. However, in the past few weeks Bruce had come to realize that the Batman persona was taking over his life completely. Bruce Wayne never made plans anymore – Batman did. Bruce Wayne never left the manor anymore – Batman did. Bruce Wayne never ate anymore – Batman did.

Whenever he looked in the mirror, he saw the mask. He didn't feel right without it on. Something terrible seemed to come over him whenever he was not in uniform, like some sense of displacement. It came to be that the night couldn't last long enough. One battle, one mystery solved, a family saved and then the sun would rise and Batman would have to retreat back into Bruce Wayne. Nothing of value seemed to happen until he could again go back into the night.

The cave was cool and silent save for the slow drip of water in some remote alcove. Bruce Wayne stood alone in the Batcave, staring at the armor and the mask. He looked down and saw himself shaking. He could feel the sweat on his brow and the clenching of his teeth. Frustration turned to fury as he saw himself in his mind's eye as some street junkie itching for a fix.

The mask stared back at him - eyeless, mute, but still seeming to have an identity all of its own. Batman was calm and powerful. Batman had his act together.

Bruce Wayne obviously did not.

"I hate you!" Bruce yelled as his right hand roughly grasped the mask. His fingers worked around it as if to crush it, but the fury quickly subsided into resignation.

Within minutes the clothes of Bruce Wayne were piled on the cold stone floor.

"I hate that I have to be you," Batman calmly uttered.

The sound of footsteps came from the stairway.

"Is there anything you will be needing before work, sir?" Alfred asked.

"Yes. A razor," Batman scratched his chin. "I could use a quick shave."

"Certainly, sir," Alfred nodded and turned back toward the manor.

"Oh, and Alfred," Batman called out.

"Yes, sir?"

"Could you throw away those cigarettes?"


	2. A new case

Rain. It didn't make any sense. Occasionally it could get humid, but the light downpour these past few weeks was bizarre for summer in Gotham. It was extremely uncomfortable, because the type of rain jackets popular in the city were more inclined for colder weather.

There was no rain on this night, but Police Commissioner Gordon wore his jacket anyway. He didn't trust it not to rain at least a little this evening, especially as he was tempting fate anyway by standing on the roof of a building. Besides, he knew that sometimes he had to wait a while for the Batman.

Gordon leaned against the short wall overlooking the city. Thousands of tiny lights flittered about in the hot summer night of Gotham, all representing somebody out there in the darkness. Lights from cars, lamps in windows, streetlights – he just couldn't help but to wonder which one of those lights would go out next.

The bat signal – was that Batman's light, or his?

"I'm here," a voice to his right proclaimed.

"Batman," Gordon shook his head. Despite all of their clandestine meetings, Batman could always startle him. "I've got one for you, and it's not pretty."

"Joker again?"

"No, maybe even worse than him," Gordon sighed. He then pulled a file folder out of his jacket and handed it to his friend. "This has been going on for a few weeks, as much as the boys at the station can figure."

Batman took the folder and flipped through its contents.

"We've been trying to keep this out of the media," Gordon continued, "but the way this has…"

"Is this what it looks like?" Batman interrupted. The photographs in the folder displayed grisly scenes of what appeared to be ritualistic slaughter. Each victim was found with their throats cut and hearts removed.

"Yeah, some kind of human sacrifice," Gordon's voice became hard. "There have been three victims so far, all men in their late twenties to early thirties - can't tie any other common similarities to them."

Batman quickly scanned the reports on the crimes.

"This doesn't sound like any of the usual suspects, Commissioner," Batman said. "You need a profiler. Why call me and not the FBI?"

"No offense, Batman, but it's because of you that the FBI won't answer any of my requests for help," Gordon crossed his arms and leaned his back against the wall. "You've really made them look bad in the past and they don't care if it costs a few innocent lives to see you fail just once."

"We all have our priorities," Batman grumbled.

"Well, I don't like this one bit," Gordon said. "The feds turned their backs on us and I've got no leads. Bullock's only idea is some sort of satanic cult, but he's got no suspects that he can stick it to."

"There is a total lack of theft," Batman closed the folder and looked at Gordon. "The victims are unrelated in any way. We must be dealing with a psychotic who is fulfilling paranoid fantasies to the extent that I haven't seen before. Have you checked with Arkham?"

"Not good," Gordon shook his head. "The only thing they were able to come up with was…"

Gordon was suddenly interrupted by a large black shape which came leaping out of the darkness behind the bat signal. It pounced on Batman, knocking him to the ground. The two grappled, rolling over each other on the floor. Finally, Batman was able to throw his assailant off of him and into the light cast by the signal.

A large jungle cat crouched low on it haunches, baring its sharp teeth at Batman. In the light, the spots on its back seemed to glitter like the night sky.

Batman came to his feet and reached to his belt, but the cat moved before he could react. Gordon jumped to one side to avoid the cat as it silently leapt over the wall and into the emptiness of space.

Both Gordon and Batman rushed to look over the short wall and down to the ground several stories below to find any trace of the cat. As mysteriously as it had arrived, so did it leave – with no sign of its passing save for a few small cuts into Batman.

"What was that?" Gordon almost shouted.

Batman quickly ran to find where the cat had come from, but found nothing behind the bat signal save for a tiny bit of shed fur.

"That was a jaguar, Commissioner," Batman answered, collecting the fur into a small plastic bag from his belt. "What was it that you were going to say that Arkham had been able to come up with?"

"A cult," Gordon turned to look over the wall again. "Where did it go?"

"Hmm." Batman held the fur up to the light.

"Maybe I should call the zoo," Gordon was shook up. "Who in Gotham has flying jaguars, eh Batman? Batman?"

He turned around, but Batman was gone.

"That's it, I'm finding a new profession," Gordon took his jacket off and folded it under his arm.


	3. Darkness Falls

The streets of Gotham were full of people eager to leave work and return home or go to the bar or whatever it was that they cared to do after eight hours of indentured servitude. The sounds of their muffled conversations and the honking of the taxicabs blended into an odd cacophony of sound that by now he was getting rather used to. After all, it was not all that different from his home.

The sun was low on the horizon and night had all but come, leaving him shrouded in the pre-dark twilight shadow found only in a world of artificial mountains that people call "city". He liked standing on the roofs of these buildings, looking down on the people below him – people oblivious to his presence. It seemed to be a fairly bizarre concept, to exist in solitude even when surrounded by others.

Yet then again, he was never truly alone.

"Necocyautl," he called the jaguar and gently stroked it as it nestled against his hip.

She was a rather large cat, six feet from her nose to the tip of her tail and standing nearly two and a half feet tall. She was powerful, especially when she was hungry.

"Is it time to feed again, daughter?"

The jaguar looked up at him, her mouth opened slightly and tongue exposed.

He was a man of average height and well-muscled. His clothes were spare, consisting of a torn, open vest made of black leather that exposed his chest and stomach. Upon his chest sat an obsidian mirror which hung from a necklace. He had long black hair, darkly tanned skin, and a black, sooty stripe painted down his face. His eyes appeared yellow in the fading light.

"You have tasted the blood of Zinacantan," he patted the jaguar's head. "We must not yet take him. The temple must be made ready first."

The jaguar let loose a growl of impatience.

"There are others we can feast upon in the meantime, Necocyautl," he told her.

He took the mirror on his chest in both hands and stared into it.

"Yes, there are so many others…"

Somewhere in the building below, an alarm was triggered. Within moments, three large men in black clothing and masks barreled out of the stairway that led out onto the roof.

"Boss! Boss!" one of the men shouted, blinded by the lack of light in the newly fallen night.

"Over here," the owner of the jaguar beckoned.

He three men turned to face their boss and ran toward him.

"We got it, boss! Wow, it was just like you said!" The thug thrusted a black bag toward his boss.

"Are you being followed?" He asked.

"Yeah, I think so," one of the other men said, nearly out of breath.

"Good. Now, do like I said and I will deal with whoever comes after you."

"But boss, they got guns," the goon with the bag proclaimed.

"Yes, but I have Necocyautl," the man grinned.

His smile was just like the panther's – and it told them to leave.

* * *

Gordon was having a very bad week. First, there was the double homicide at the docks. Then, there were the multiple animal attacks throughout the city. Now, standing on the roof of the museum, he was facing grand theft and five dead security guards.

They weren't pretty, either.

"Commissioner," a deep voice whispered from the shadows behind him.

"Batman," he turned and tried to rub the pain out of his aching head. "We have a situation."

"I see."

What Batman saw consisted of five men, brutally slain. Their heads had been crushed, apparently by some animal. Their chests were torn into and their hearts removed.

"That's not all," Gordon sighed. "Whoever did this also stole an artifact from the museum, a showcase item on loan from the British museum – some kind of mask."

"What kind of mask?" Batman asked.

"It was part of a Pre-Columbian art exhibit, something to do with one of the Mayan or Aztec gods," Gordon scratched his chin. "It wasn't the most expensive piece, apparently, but it was the only thing they stole. I'll have the security video for you in a minute."

"It looks like the jaguar from last night was here," Batman surmised.

"That cat did this?"

"You can the claw marks on the chest."

"But the heads…" Gordon was getting sick looking at the carnage.

"A grown jaguar like that can easily pulverize human bone with its jaws and they typically kill their prey with a cranial attack… you might even find a broken tooth."

"But if that jaguar did this, then why didn't it eat their whole bodies?" Gordon asked. "Why would it just tear out their hearts?"

"It didn't," Batman growled. "Something else carved out the hearts."

"A person?"

"I don't think we can call it a person," Batman said.


End file.
